


Shut Up Kiss Me

by mollyjmera (conniptionns)



Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-02
Updated: 2019-03-02
Packaged: 2019-11-08 05:51:05
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17975651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/conniptionns/pseuds/mollyjmera
Summary: To your surprise, it’s the visiting Lady of Mercia who suggests the game, and you can’t help but wonder if she learned it from her time among the Danes. The tavern is smoky and dark, the ale flowing freely and loosening tongues. Aethelflaed shepherds three men before you—her brother Edward, Sihtric, and Uhtred—and instructs them to close their eyes. “You must choose one to lick, one to slap, and one to fondle.” She grins, mischievous, and shoves you toward them with a conspiratorial whisper. “And remember they get turns later, so be wise.”





	Shut Up Kiss Me

**Author's Note:**

  * For [pokeasleepingsmaug](https://archiveofourown.org/users/pokeasleepingsmaug/gifts).



> This is my first TLK fic, be gentle with me

Cinnamon, fragrant burning wood, and something like old, fallen tree, half-buried in moss, wakes you. It reminds you of the trips you and your sister take to the edge of Coccham, where the wide world seems to sprawl out in front of you, peppered with trees. The sun-warmed bark, dill, and dry needles. If you keep your eyes closed, you can see them now, soaring, ancient trees, bark and evergreen needles and even the soil around their roots. One of those scents you taste as you smell.

Alone in the room you share with your sister, Nerienda, furs tucked snugly around you, you’re warm from your bare feet, buried beneath layers of thick blankets, to the tip of your nose, burrowed in a flannel pillow. Deliciously content, you don’t want to move, but then your stomach snarls. You open your eyes with a groan to find the room cast in a dusky haze. The only light in the room the flicker of a candle melted down to a nub. You slept too well and for far too long; crashing the moment your chores were finished.

Nerienda told you the Lady of Mercia was going to have a night of games in the alehouse, which was certainly where she had gotten off to.

Tempted by the glow of Coccham and the lovely Lady of Mercia, you turn back the blankets and shift around on your knees to peer out the window above the bed. The glass is covered in the creeping fingers of frost, crawling out from the windowpane, beckoning toward one another as they swirl around the glass together; iridescent in the starlight, they only registered as an insistent shine through the misty night.

You flop down on your back and blink for a moment, considering getting back in your cocoon of furs and going to sleep, but the raucous laughter from the alehouse reminds you of how long it has been since you last ate.

Resigned to getting up, you swing your legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet touching the cold wood and you hiss, opening a drawer beside the bed and pulling on a pair of woolen stockings, tying them tight with satiny blue ribbons. You get dressed quickly, loathe to be caught in the cold in just your shift.

You sneak past your goats and bend at the waist to give your favorite a scritch behind the ears before crossing Coccham to the alehouse. There aren’t many people milling around outside and you can only assume they’re starving for glances at the Lady of Mercia. Coccham might be located inside Wessex, but stories of the Lady have gone far and wide and there isn’t a more loyal parish to the first child of King Alfred. Lord Uhtred is probably to blame for that entirely. He’s not overt in his preference of the beautiful Aethelflaed, but you’re a woman and, as such, are in tune to these sort of things.

Nerienda is in the lap of Uhtred’s man, Finan, and you roll your eyes because the Irishman is a very handsome excuse for your sister to leave Coccham and travel the world. Could she be more subtle? But you don’t have the time or inclination to scold your sister into not leaving you here. You’re roped into conversation and three gentlemen offer to buy you an entire trough of ale “if it pleases you, my lady.”

Warm with the ale flowing through you, you find a group of your friends giggling at a table with the Lady of Mercia herself. Edgitha has a plate full of food and you float across the room moony-eyed. You ply your dear friend Edie with ale and sneak bites off her plate so you don’t have to go back home and get the purse you forgot tied to your apron strings.

Conversation and ale flow and you find yourself enamored with the visiting Lady of Mercia. She’s everything you want to be, poised and precise, and it doesn’t hurt that the most handsome men in Coccham seem to flock to her like your goats flock to you when you’re holding their feed. Envy doesn’t become a lady so you tap Edgitha on the shoulder and snatch a roll off her plate when she turns to see who wants her attention. She turns back to see your cheeks puffed out with your boon and just gives you a smacking kiss on the cheek in retribution. She is the loveliest friend.

To your surprise, it’s the Lady of Mercia herself who suggests the game, and you can’t help but wonder if she learnt it from her time amongst the Danes. The tavern is smoky and dark, the ale flowing freely and loosening tongues, definitely yours with how much you’ve imbibed. Aethelflaed shepherds three men before you—her brother, Edward, Sihtric, and Uhtred—and instructs them to close their eyes.

“Sweetling, I dare you to play this game with me,” she coos like she has an evil secret. “You must choose one to lick, one to slap, and one to fondle.” Aethelflaed grins, mischievous, and pulls you out of your seat to shove you toward them with a conspiratorial whisper. “And remember, they get turns later, so be wise.”

As you stumble toward the three men in stately furs and leather you feel the ale sloshing inside you and one of your satin ribbons slipping down your thigh. You’re going to do something so stupid, you can’t wait. Nerienda hollers something that you choose not to register because it’s absolutely filthy. Finan barks out a surprised laugh and pulls her in for a kiss, and something comes over you. Nerienda always gets the men. You’re softer, quieter. You get their attentions, sure, but you’re adept at turning fawning drunk men toward your friends, content in your own company. Aethelflaed behind you, you want to lick and fondle all of them and maybe slap one or two.

Edward is to be king. You can’t fathom slapping him, but also, he’s currently not king and he’s willing to play this game. To say you slapped a king? Can you pass this up? But then again, wouldn’t it be better to lick or fondle a king? You can’t decide.

Then there’s Sihtric, he’s currently courting a woman and brings her flowers. You desperately want to slap him for being willing to play this game, but maybe even more urgent is your need to have a beautiful man bring you flowers. If you give him a night he’ll never forget, maybe you’ll get wildflowers the next day.

Finally, there’s Lord Uhtred. He’s definitely never given a woman any complaint, but you know the way Aethelflaed looks at him and he at her. It seems this game is almost political. You wish you had another ale so you might forget this.

“Stop thinking, you tart,” Nerienda screeches, and what the hell, you listen.

You walk up to the three men, kiss your hand and slap Sihtric full on the face. He opens his eyes and laughs heartily, pulling you into a surprise hug.

“Let the girl finish the game,” Aethelflaed tuts.

Sihtric pouts, “My ladies.” He kisses your cheek before letting you go.

The last two you can only do with no thought at all. You take a step back before you crowd into Uhtred’s space and lean in to lick a stripe up his neck. You blush and fumble as you step back and then there are warm, strong hands steadying you. He puts a finger to his lips and pushes you toward Edward. He’s standing with his eyes closed, gently, no longer afraid to be slapped you guess.

You crowd into his space and he clenches his eyes shut to keep from looking at you. You reach around him like you’re going to hug him and you get two hands full of royal ass and Nerienda screams. Edgitha hollers out, telling Edward to get ready to be mounted, and you start to draw away, planning on running for home. It’s a five-minute walk, but if you sprint, surely you can get away in time.

Strong arms pull you back in, tilts your chin up, and rubs his nose gently against yours.

"You weren’t going to run from me, were you?"

“Yes. No. I don’t know,” you squeak, tucking your head into his neck.

“Never run from me, Merewyn.”

The future king just said your name. You faint dead away in his arms.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't decided if I should continue :)


End file.
